The third night bled into dawn before anyone dared close their eyes.
Zion's breath was shallow but steady. He hadn't spoken again since that strange name—Papa Legba—had escaped his lips. It haunted Kael like a ghost. Not because he understood it… but because something in it felt real.
And in a world where their tribe was ash and gods had never once spoken, that feeling was dangerous.
The Burden of a Brother
Kael sat against a moss-covered root, Zion's body still across his lap, half-covered in torn furs and dried blood.
He didn't remember when he started thinking of him as a brother. Not just the "chief's son." Not just "the last thread." But someone he had to protect.
They hadn't been close before.
"I could've left you," he whispered under his breath. "I should've. You're dead weight, and we're barely alive."
Zion didn't move.
Kael leaned forward and brushed soot from Zion's temple.
"But something about you… I don't know. You're not who you were, are you?"
The boy's chest rose and fell in rhythm. A calm that didn't belong in this cruel place.
Kael's grip tightened around the worn haft of his spear.
If Zion was still breathing, he would carry him—even into death.
Thalia: The Blade in the Dark
Thalia's eyes were amber in the firelight, slit like a cat's in her fury.
She was always silent. Calculating. A killer born from blood and necessity.
That night, she stood barefoot atop a tree root, watching the shadows move below. Every time the brush rustled, her fingers curled around her blade.
The scouts were still out there. Maybe five. Maybe ten. They didn't know.
"They're playing with us," she said, breaking the silence for the first time in hours.
Kael looked up.
"Then we make them bleed before they play too hard."
She didn't smile, but her grip tightened in approval.
She wasn't here to be protected. She wasn't here to mourn the dead.
Thalia had a gift: she could kill without guilt, lead without mercy, and hold a trembling child with blood still wet on her hands.
Zion had stirred for the first time in four days when she was closest.
Coincidence, or something else?
She didn't believe in destiny. But if Zion had something inside him—something old—then she wanted to be there when it opened its eyes.
The Land is Not a Home
The ruins they stumbled upon were crumbled remains of an ancient watchtower, overgrown and moss-choked. Cracked stones. Roots through old bones. A half-rotted gate that opened to nothing but thornbrush.
But it was higher ground. It was shelter.
"This place is cursed," whispered one of the younger teens. "I heard stories about these ruins."
Kael shook his head.
"Everything's cursed now."
No fires were lit. The scent could carry for miles. They ate raw roots and drank from a spring that tasted like metal.
And still, the drums echoed.
Far off. Getting closer.
The Voice in the Flame
That night, Zion's body convulsed.
Kael rushed to him. "Zion? Chief's son? Wake up!"
Zion's eyes snapped open, glowing faint gold—just for a heartbeat. Then they rolled back.
His lips moved, whispering something no one could hear. Something ancient. Something not of this world.
The camp froze.
Even Thalia stood still, as if afraid to blink.
Then… silence.
Zion collapsed again into unconsciousness, sweat pooling on his brow. But the moment he stopped moving, the wind changed. The forest went still. The drums ceased.
"He silenced them," said Thalia, voice barely a whisper.
Kael didn't speak.
But somewhere deep inside, something shifted. For the first time since the fall of their home…
He believed